


Hands

by Womble1



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:34:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Womble1/pseuds/Womble1
Summary: a persons hands tell you a lot about them
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Virgil was looking down at his hands, as in really looking, not something he did on a regular basis. His hands were his tools, he didn't give them a lot of thought, but then who honestly did spend time musing on their own hands. It had been a long day, not really usual for their line of work, but he couldn't really blame the length of day on this suddenly specific introspection. They had been helping evacuate people from a flood zone and he had ended up with a pod full of small children. Gordon had done a solid job of distracting little eyes while Virgil checked the few adults over. However one little child, probably about 4 years old at a guess, had decided that Virgil was their favorite and had firmly welded their hand to his. So it was that Virgil found himself moving round the med bay with a small child hanging from his hand like an anchor. Life with younger siblings, especially the sort that would kick up more of a fuss when they thought they were missing out on things, had taught him to just roll with it. Not for the first time he was thankful that he was reasonably ambidextrous. 

Eventually all the tasks were completed and it was just a case of waiting for the transport to join them and take away their passengers. Time for a few minutes sit down, still minus one hand. As they were sat side by side on a small bench Virgil took a moment to observe what his little companion was so intrigued with. The little girl was examining each of his fingers in turn,as his hand lay palm up beside him, tugging on them and twisting to peer at all sides. She didn't seem to be hampered by a regard for his comfort in the proceedings and he winced slightly as she twisted his little finger into a position that best suited her. He was glad she was occupied, but was confused by what could be keeping her so enthralled, he had long ago learnt that quiet children were probably plotting something, but that was probably an unfair assumption for children that weren't Gordon. He took a sip from his drink as the little girl started scraping her nails over the rough skin on his fingers, a deep frown etched between her brows. With the subtly that only a preschool child can possess she loudly asked: 

“What's wrong with your hands?!” the volume of her questioning drew the attention of one of the women they had rescued. A stern reprimand was issued advising the little darling to not be so rude. The woman hustled the little munchkin away whilst sending a flurry of apologies in Virgil's direction. He had given the woman a reassuring grin at the time and thought no more about it. It was only now, as he waited for Gordon in the cockpit ready to head home, that their comment had come back to him. In those few idle moments he found himself looking down at his hands with fresh eyes. It's never nice to think you had scared a child off, but the more he considered it the more he thought the child hadn’t seemed scared, more intrigued. Looking down at his hands, he guessed they probably had seen some life. The gloves of their uniforms did a good job in protecting their hands, but there was a limit to what they could do. Calluses had built up over time, the result of many hours lifting and shifting, with or without the jaws of life. It only occurred to Virgil now that the little child had been trying to scratch them off, he wondered when he had stopped noticing them himself. Like the slow drips building to stalagmites in cave formations, so to the scrapes and the cuts had built up over the years, making it very clear that he was not the pampered son of a billionaire many liked to believe the brothers were. 

Nails kept purposely short, were still nevertheless torn and encrusted with the days grime. Despite care and attention with a nail brush, he was pretty sure there was still paint under some of the nails and he couldn't for the life of him think if it was oils paints or left over metal paint from the last bit of maintenance on Two. There were scabbed knuckles that made it look like he had been in a bar fight, although the boring truth was a plastic box lid during a supply run. There was a silvery scar on the back of his hand that spoke of Intravenous drip, although Virgil couldn't remember what hospital stay had warranted it. One finger joint was scarred from the burns which also had claimed his eyebrows a few years back. There was an angry line that ran down the outside edge of his little finger, the result of overconfidence with the metal lathe many years ago, but which meant he couldn't quite tuck that finger in fully. A thing that was remarked upon with great hilarity by his brothers when he tried to hold one of Lady Penelopes tea cups and was left with a finger jutting out like a pretentious snob. 

Virgil was deep into his reminiscing when Gordon came blustering in.

“You alright there big man, you look like you're auditioning for Lady Macbeth”

It was hard to say if Virgil was more shocked my Gordons arrival, or his quoting of Shakespear.

“I, what?” was the very articulate reply that he managed.

“Well that reference was clearly wasted, I thought you would have got it, should have saved it for John” Gordon huffed in a good humoured way “seriously what are you looking at, did you have to deal with something gross? Did the kiddies leave a present?” he stared looking around himself with a little trepidation, sniffing the air carefully. 

“No, what? No! Sit down Gordon, you look like a budget bloodhound” it kickstarted Virgil's brain enough and he started the pre flight checks automatically, fingers reaching out with a practiced ease. “Just one of the kids wanted to know what was wrong with my hands” he held one spread hand up for Gordons inspection. 

“Heh, I guess you have gained a few battle scars over the years. No wonder Brains keeps reinforcing your gloves, they're going to look like oven mitts soon. What did you say to them?” Gordon asked

“Nothing, didn't need to, they were bundled off for a lesson in manners by one of the adults. Just guess it made me stop and look. I mean, that fingernail” Virgil stuck his left index finger out “ its never been the same since that time I took Scotts bike to pieces and impaled it on a spoke” 

“You should think up better stories for the scars, I’ve got a whole back catalogue you can borrow, I just pick which one takes my fancy at the time.” replied Gordon

“What do you mean”

“Well when people ask about any of my scars, I’ll just give them something fantastical, see if they buy it”

“Hydrofoil accident is pretty impressive to begin with Gordon.” Virgil deadpanned. 

“Yeah, but shark attack, High speed chase on a motorbike, aerial dogfight in a fighter plane. These all sound more entertaining, bit of international espionage, bit of drama, bit more impressive than - the machine went boom and I went splat.”

“Still better than - stuck my finger in the metal lathe” Virgil retorted, proudly displaying the little finger in question.

“That's what I mean Virg! Dress it up a little,maybe you were cracking a safe, or scaling a castle wall at midnight” enthused Gordon, getting swept up in his own narrative.

“Why would I be doing that?” Virgil added a raised eyebrow to the question, for added emphasis.

“Because you're a daring, exciting man of mystery!” Gordon was practically bouncing, trying to get his point across.

“I live on a secret island base and fly a Thunderbird around the world on a daily basis, don't you think that's enough drama to be getting on with?” still with the deadpan response, although a twitch of a smile was starting to show at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh suit yourself, if you're going to be all factual about it, where’s your sense of drama? Macbeth would have just waited for everyone to snuff it of old age if he’d had you as a wing man. I was just trying to cheer you up about your mangled hands”

“I’m fine, just haven't really stopped to tally it all up for a while. I guess you smell of hard work, and my hands just look like hard work.”

“It's not just your hands!” Gordon instinctively ducked as one of those hands swatted out towards the copilots chair in retaliation.

“Anway, better question, what's with all the Shakespearian quotes? Fishboy”

“Why so surprised dear brother, I am a cultured, sophisticated person - don’t you know.”

“Trying to impress Lady P?” Virgil guessed

“Is it that obvious?” Gordons shoulders sagged slightly

“Maybe just don't ram it into every sentence, and maybe vary it a little, Macbeth isn't the most cheerful one is it.” a pause, then realisation dawned “it's the only one you've read isn't it?” the pause lengthened with no response from the co-pilots seat. “you haven't read it, have you?”

“Not so much read, there was a film, well most of a film, but that counts though!”

“Not quite, I wouldn't go testing it out on Penelope until you've expanded your repertoire a little more. ‘Though she be but little she is fierce’” Virgil was quietly proud of his brain for dredging up that quote from some unknown corner of his memory.

“What did you call her? Should I be offended, do I have to call you out and defend her honour?” Gordon was getting swept up in his own drama again.

“I think she would be quite capable of doing that herself if it was required, and no, you don’t. Get John to lend you his old English Lit notes, he had a load of the classics abridged down to 200 words or less, he said that all of them followed the same basic plot so once you had them categorised and a few quotes you could reference all of them. Trust him to work out a formula for literature essays, makes it a little sterile, but I guess it served a purpose.”

“Awh great, that’ll be way quicker than the films, I was dreading the pride and prejudice adaptation - 6hours Virge, how do they fill 6 hours?” he kicked his feet up on the dashboard, clearly relaxing now that weight was off his mind. 

Virgil reached out, went to swat Gordons feet down, slightly misjudged his aim and staved his finger off a section of the control panel. Gordon snorted a laugh, as Virgil proceeded to wave the injured hand around, sucking in a painted breath.

“And that dear brother is why your hands are a mess!” giggled Gordon as he raised his arms behind his head to complete his relaxed pose.


	2. Pampering by stealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt sorry for mangling Virgils hands, so heres a little pampering for him

A deep rumble echoed across the manicured lawns of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward’s country home. Sherbert pricked his ears up at the sound and jumped down from the sofa he had claimed as his own.

“Ah yes Sherbert, it looks like our guest has arrived. Parker, could you show him straight through please.”

Brains had presented Virgil with a box for Lady Penelope as he set off in Thunderbird 2 to complete a check up on some bridge repairs they had completed in Northern Europe a few weeks earlier. Virgil just wanted to make sure that the repairs were holding and check in with the teams completing the full repairs to advise on working around the nano concrete. Brains had asked if Virgil could drop an item off to Lady Penelope on his way back. He hadn’t asked what it was, assuming it was something super secret that he wouldn’t be told about even if he had asked, although it felt strangely empty. But he agreed to act as delivery driver and tucked the box away in the cockpit and thought no more about it. In fact he nearly forgot all about it until John popped up requesting his ETA at the manor. A slight recalculation of his route and he was soon landing across the wide gravel drive, carefully avoiding the classical statues. A quick pit stop, drop the package off and he would be back on his way in no time, he told himself. So he was a little surprised when Parker didn’t take the box off of him at the door and instead herded him into the front parlour. He shuffled awkwardly, suddenly aware of all the muck he had managed to get over his uniform on what was meant to have been just an observational visit. 

Lady Penelope was sitting at a small table as a small army of beauticians scurried around her.

“Ah, Virgil, so nice to see you. Thank you very much for acting as postman for Brains, I do appreciate it.”

“No trouble at all, Lady P. I’ll be heading off then.” he shuffled towards the door, unsure if he should have waited to be dismissed before moving. 

“Oh Virgil, I wonder if I might trouble you a little further while you're here.”

“Um, sure. What can I do for you?” he was starting to feel increasingly nervous about what she could want.

“You see, I have been asked to sit on a judging panel for a photography competition, and I thought you could perhaps help me by looking through some of the entries and giving me your artistic opinion.” She waved an arm across to another chair that was next to the table, “I hope you don't mind all this” She gestured to the assorted beauty professionals buzzing around, “but I am trying to fit in rather a lot of multitasking, there is a bit of a run of events coming up and one does have an image to maintain. I find this is the most efficient way really.”

Virgil tentatively lowered himself into the alarmingly delicate looking chair, once again hoping that he hadn't got stray nanocrete on his overalls. Penelope passed across a tablet with the shortlisted images on it. “ let me know your thoughts on these, it appears to be a deceptively long ‘shortlist’ just bookmark any you think I should highlight to the panel” As he started flipping through the images and started to relax into his task, Penelope caught the eye of the manicurist to her left. Her name tag read “Lauren” and her crisp black uniform tabard spoke of efficient professionalism. Penelope gave an almost imperceivable nod, it was an ambush. Hemmed in by the dainty table on one side and a rolling trolly of assorted hair parifanila on the other, Virgil had no clear escape route. Lauren swept in with her own array of accoutrements which she spread out across the table in front of the unsuspecting rescue operative. In one fluid movement she had fitted the tablet into a convenient stand so that he only needed to use one hand and had claimed his other hand in a firm grip that made it clear that resistance was futile. 

“Um, hello?” Virgil wasn't at his most eloquent when startled, he looked across to Lady Penelope like a drowning man hoping for a life ring.

“Well, Lauren here was just telling me that she's one of those sort of people who just has to keep busy, and she's really got nothing to do until my nails have dried a little. So really you would be doing her a favor, so I thought this would be a perfect opportunity for you to get a little pampering too.” While this conversation had been taking place, Lauren had already got his free hand soaking in a bowl of some sweet smelling milky looking concoction with dried rose petals floating on the surface. It all looked quite gentle, unlike the vice like grip she still had on his wrist, Virgil would be willing to bet his life in her hands if he was hanging on a mountain side. With her other hand she was arranging an array of files, nail scissors and pumice stones. They all looked far more industrial than anything that might be needed for Lady Penelope's elegant hands, and Virgil started to suspect that this had been a pre planned attack. With 4 brothers, he knew a set up when he saw one. 

“Umm, Lady Penelope? Why are you doing this?”

“I don't know what you mean my dear, you're being such a darling helping me like this…”

“Uh huh?” he was not buying it.

“Oh fine, Gordon told me you were a little self conscious after a child commented about your rough hands, and I thought a little pampering wouldn't go amiss,”

“He said that?”

“Well, not exactly, he did phrase it slightly differently, something about you ‘scaring children with your mangled hands’, but I read around that a little. Occasionally Gordon requires a little interpretation to discern his underlying intent”

“Ah, yeah, that’s one way to put it” Virgil chuckled, he realised there was little point arguing, if Laurens grip hadn't made escape possible, he had learnt many times before that trying to swim against the tide of one of Lady Penelope's plans was a hopeless task. “This isn't optional is it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really, no, and I do genuinely need your help with those photos. It's frightfully difficult to think of enough original things to say about them all. I’m not sure what filtering process they used, but some of them really are truly terrible.” He laughed in reply and went back to flipping through the images with his one free hand, making a few notes where appropriate. 

Lauren must have been part of a motor racing pit crew in a past life, because in less than 20 minutes she had cleaned, filed, trimmed, moisturised and generally got his hands fighting fit again. She had used a few power tools that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Thunderbird 2’s workshop. He was taken aback, he couldn't believe how unfamiliar his hands felt and he couldn't stop himself from rubbing his hands together like a cut price movie villain.

“Thank you, it's not how I planned on spending the afternoon, but I can’t deny you’ve definitely made me presentable again. I can’t promise how long they stay like this, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“Well I do believe Scott has Laurens details if you need to book in a follow up appointment at any point….” and if it had been anyone else Virgil would have sworn that he had seen the quickest of cheeky winks flash across the aristocrats' composed features.


	3. Cold hands warm heart

John had always had cold hands, even before prolonged time in space had done a number on his circulation. His mother had always reminded him of the old saying “cold hands, warm heart”, which he thought was a nice thing to say, but the evidence did not stack up. Virgil always had warm hands, always. John was reminded of this as he stepped into the cockpit of Thunderbird 2, stamping his feet to try and get some warmth back into his extremities. He had been helping Gordon and Virgil on a North Sea rescue where an extra person was needed to help evacuate an oil rig. It was strange to be in the thick of the banter rather than observing it through the safe barrier of technology. Every now and again he found his eyes darting around to read holographic displays that were usually always at the edge of his vision, things like heart rates and wind speeds, and he was ashamed to admit that he felt a little naked without this protective layer of data. However the strangest things right now was the sight that was being enacted between his two brothers. Gordon and Virgil were standing facing each other, Virgil had both of Gordons hands squashed flat between his two flat palms, as if in prayer, while Gordon did a little dance from foot to foot, clearly also cold to the bone. 

John stopped on the threshold for a second longer before deciding that since they were his ride home he might as well face whatever this was head on.

“Oh no Virgil, if you’re resorting to prayer, does that mean Gordons flying home?”

“Oh har har! I’m warming my hands up. The mans like a furnace, haven't you ever noticed? Don't ever get him to hold your icecream for you - voice of experience” with this Gordon, pulled his hand out, grabbed one of Virgil's wrists and thrust it in John's direction. “Here! See!”

I am well aware of Virgil's core temperature range, thank you.” he raised his own palms up in defense and edged around the pair to get to the passenger seats.   
Virgil took back his hands and went to stow away something in the storage compartments at the back of the cockpit

“Anyway, you know it's more efficient to warm your hands by tucking them under your arms, it's closer to your core” even as he said it John realised his mistake. He could see a mischievous glint in Gordons eye from the other side of the cockpit. He watched with trepidation as Gordon stopped his little dance, straightened up and clapped his hands together once. Then, quick as a flash, Gordon spun on his heels and, as stealthy as a ninja, tip-toed up behind Virgil who was oblivious to the ambush as he continued his investigation of the storage compartment. John watched as Gordon brought his hands together mimicking the earlier moment of prayer, then slowly moved his arms out to the width of his brothers back, almost as if measuring him for a suit. He held this position for one split second before, with surgical precision, ramming his hands, fingers first, under Virgil's arms to nestle in his armpits. What followed was a surprisingly shrill startled squawk from the glorified hand warmer as he clapped his elbows into his sides in shock. That was quickly accompanied by a yelp from the now squashed chilly ninja assailant. 

"What ARE you doing?!" 

"Warming my hands" the ‘duh’ was left unsaid but most definitely implied. “John told me to do it.” he deflected.

“I did no such thing, and you know it” he was using his space monitor voice coupled with a medium strength glare. 

“Well could you not? Get off!” Virgil shimmied his arms to try and dislodge the unwelcome attachment.

“Gladly.” Gordon removed his hands with a flourish. “John you never said it would be all sweaty”. Johns only response was a mid level eye roll, he was trying not to get pulled into this.

“Bit personal, Gords.” retorted the now abandoned warmer. “I guess you won't be wanting these then?” Virgil pulled out the items he had been hunting for before the invasive attack. In his hands he had a pile of heat packs and two fleece blankets with Tracy Industries logos stitched on ( left over from that year that Gordon was involved in the marketing budgets, strangely it was an experiment that was never repeated.)

“Awwh, you're the best brother, did I ever mention that? Definitely top 5” Gordon gushed and swept the assorted swag into his arms. 

“Gordon you only have 4 brothers” john pointed dryly

“Yeah, but surely I deserve an honourable mention too” Gordon was now arranging himself in a blanket/heat pack nest in the copilots seat, devoting a lot of attention to making sure the blanket tucked all the way around his back and covered both legs. John made do with wearing his like a cape and sitting on his hands to warm them up.

Virgil looked across from the pilots seat to his two blanket clad brothers. “It looks like a day trip out for the pensioners in here, next thing one of you will be pulling out a bag of mints and photos of your grandkids.”

Gordon suddenly dived into his folds of blanket with alarming alacrity “not quite but I can offer you a slightly squashed box of mint Poppets and some pictures of Alan asleep with a beer mat on his face” he rattled the soggy cardboard box in what they assumed he thought was an enticing manner.

Shockingly nobody took him up on his offer.


End file.
